Rating: 3.5/10

Spoilers ahead for “Draft Day.” Not that it would be any more enjoyable otherwise. 

Despite the title, it took me over an hour to realize that most of the drafting in Ivan Reitman’s “Draft Day” happens well before the draft actually begins. 

Starring Kevin Costner as Sonny Weaver Jr., the general manager (?) of the Cleveland (?) Browns (?), we follow him as he navigates the pressures of choosing the team’s next “pick” (?) on the day of the NFL Draft. 

From the outset, Sonny is accosted by potential players and what I can only assume are other GMs — certainly too many to keep track of — and we’re made to feel the high-stakes environment as echoed through the periodic presence of a timer ticking — just like in a real football game, wow! 

As if this wasn’t enough, Sonny must also grapple with the completely harrowing news that his situationship, Ali — played by a way-too-young-for-him Jennifer Garner — is pregnant. Can you believe it? A war on all fronts. 

Seriously, though, what was with Jennifer Garner’s character being so clearly scripted for a male audience? 

Besides the fact that Ali — who doesn’t even have a last name, ahaha — is almost 20 years younger than Sonny, she excuses his gruff reactions and emotional unavailability because she’s a shitty person too! She’s not like the other girls, those “Mom Of The Year” types: She’s a lawyer, she’s never packed a lunch and she even eats barbecue chips. Goddammit, the one thing she understands is — you guessed it — football; nay, she is football. 

Thank you, Reitman, for really showing the pick-me girls how it’s done. 

The rest of the plot consists of intense staring and phone calls preceded by dramatic shots of the respective team being represented, with Ali sporadically strutting in her high heels and putting Sonny in his place. 

I have no idea who the Browns or any of the other teams are, but it’s okay because Reitman subtly lets us know that Cleveland is the underdog we’re supposed to root for. They “don’t have beaches and beautiful weather” or “hot babes roller-skating all over.” 

But you know what they do have? Football. Oh, yeah.

It would appear, however, that Reitman had enough of this obvious hand-holding and decided to balance it out with the ensuing convoluted yet painfully cliche mess that is the rest of this story. You know, for the real football intellectuals. 

I’ll be forthcoming in admitting that this is absolutely not my type of film — sorry, movie — and I have never watched a football game in my life. Nonetheless, I like to think I’m competent enough to follow a basic plot, but it became immediately evident that this would not be such an instance. 

If you’re walking into “Draft Day” with as little exposure to this overrated nonsense as myself, fear not, you’re given enough context to understand the essentials:

Players don’t try out for a team and then get drafted by said team; they’re chosen from a pool of legit all college players that scouts somehow have the resources to sift through. 

Jennifer Garner is hot. 

There are multiple rounds. Why? I don’t know. Not like guys can usually do this in any other aspect of their lives. 

In addition to coaches, teams also get a general manager, but this is not to be confused with the owner. Neither does this include the at least seven other men who intently nod in approval around outrageously huge tables whenever the ones on the phone need to make a decision. Because, you know, how else are you supposed to appease all these macho, territorial men? 

Everyone’s name sounds like the same three derivations of Joe Conner, but that’s irrelevant because love was the real main character all along. 

When players get drafted, the order in which their names are called somehow correlates to their paychecks. Because this is not a bunch of people who have dedicated their entire lives to training and pushing themselves to their breaking points; clearly, this is middle school, and everyone knows only the sucky kids get picked last.

Even though the teams and their respective managers draft players from their offices (headquarters?) across the country, the NFL Draft itself is in New York City. 

Jennifer Garner is seriously hot. Worth repeating for obvious reasons. 

The general managers, owners and whoever else feels like they have a say engage in heated exchanges with other teams prior to the draft actually starting, sort of like a mini-draft. Why they don’t just do this during the actual draft is beyond me and seems totally inefficient. Maybe they can’t get it right the first time, so they need some practice. Shocking. 

Throwing things out of anger is ultimate masculinity — just like in football! See what Reitman did there? Peak writing. 

All in all, this movie is about following your gut and cementing yourself in a lineage of greats: The guy gets the girl, mom approves of the baby, deals are made, the right player is chosen and there are enough handshakes to go around. 

But I was definitely left with more questions than answers: Why is there so much “swallowing,” “sacking” and allusions to things being “big?” Why are we paying to “get wet?” Why are there so many men in suits with receding hairlines? And most importantly, why was Diddy in this?  

Sam Elliot’s cameo as Coach Moore almost made up for everything else, though.

Isabella Garcia is an economics senior and senior opinion columnist for The Battalion.